


In the heat of the night

by evilleaper



Series: Dark Shadows over Time [5]
Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: M/M, Masochism, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-04 02:41:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6638098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilleaper/pseuds/evilleaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only days before Al retires the stresses of what awaits finally becomes too much for him to deal with alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Sam Beckett, Al Calavicci and all things Quantum Leap belong to Donald P Bellisario and 'Universal' anything else e.g.; the words herein and the idea for this piece of fan fiction belong solely to me. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> Warning: Rated R for M/M interactions and also deals with the issue of masochism.
> 
> Thanks: To PJ, Carol and Shamrock for their input and help in betaing this story.
> 
> Notes: This is part five of the "Dark Shadows Over Time" series. The events that follow here come directly from what was discovered about Al during "Haunted." You will have to read Haunted to understand this. Sam's point of view. Australian spelling. Not new, just new to AO3.

It was hot, far too hot to argue, I scolded myself. Wishing as I successfully managed to remove the cap from the bottle in my hand and then dispose of it in the rubbish bin, that autumn would arrive sooner, rather than later this year.

The summer had dragged on long enough I thought, taking a long swallow from the ice cold beer I have afforded myself. Wiping my mouth with the back of my other when I have, I then carry both the beer and myself back into the living room; peering down the hallway as I pass it by. 

Weather, that is definitely not conducive with patience. At least not for any length of time or when the one trying them is so unnecessarily stubborn, I think as I take up my usual place on the larger of the two sofas adorning the room, propping my feet on the edge of the coffee table separating them.

I was annoyed, more with myself than with Al, but knowing that didn't help the situation. I needed to think, to remember that he loved me, that he was under a great deal of pressure at the moment and more importantly, to let go of how I felt about his current behaviour.

My birthday was only a week away now, and even though I know there is more on the horizon than just me being able to celebrate this year’s further slip into middle age with Al, it was that he seemed to prefer to focus on and not what was really happening. His retirement will precede my forty-ninth birthday by only two days, and as with the short vacation we have planned to offset the other less enjoyable aspects of this trip, has been organized down to the last detail. Though it was becoming increasingly apparent that he would sooner discuss anything at all, including the prospect of adding a few extra of days to our trip to visit my family than the event that would herald the end of his career in the Navy.

Tonight had brought it all to a head between us and although we hadn't exactly argued, the tension that ensued after I had tried to discuss the changes that would occur in both our lives once all of the speeches and final ceremony had taken place, made it impossible to ignore any longer.

Basically, Al had flatly refused to accept that my concerns for him were anything to worry about. Discarding them as baseless he had all but taken my head off when I had tried to broach the subject with him and then immediately fallen into one of his less communicative moods.

Granted, the actual changes to Al's everyday life after his retirement was official would be minimal. He would, for example remain as administrator to the Project and continue to receive his regular income for the duties he performed along with his pension from the Navy. Money wasn't a problem, wouldn't ever be, and I truly wished he would accept that. Nor was the want of something to do with his free time once we had returned from our vacation and settled into a new routine. He had always been a man fully involved in his own projects and interests, so I had no reason to believe that his current lack of enthusiasm would go on indefinitely.

It wasn't Al's perceived financial difficulty. Which is the only excuse he has seen fit to give me when I have tried to discuss the changes I had noted in his behaviour, or any fear that he might completely lose his usual zest for life that bothered me. It was his refusal to face what we had both known were the inevitable side effects to such an event as life-changing as his retirement. With any change, there is an expected period of adjustment, time to regroup our senses for the new and different path to be taken and the psychological effects of Al's departure from his known way of life, had I believed, and despite his continued denial that anything between us was different, already begun to show.

This last week had been the worst so far and frankly, knowing Al as I do, I couldn't imagine it getting any better. Something needed to happen, but what that was, I wasn't sure.

I have decided that in light of Al's resistance and to avoid completely losing my patience with him to leave him to finish his packing for our trip in peace; putting a little distance between us and giving myself some time to ponder what I could do to help him though this time in his life. Knowing as I take another long swallow of my beer that what I could do was to simply give him what he hadn't asked for, but was what I knew he wanted, had been craving more of, for the past week.

In truth it had being going on longer than that. The variations I have noted in Al’s behaviour weren't in fact changes, but a reoccurrence of something that he had originally tried to keep from me. The origins of which had taken form many years before we had even met, and were I knew as much a part of Al now as was my own presence in his life.

I don't spend a lot of time thinking about the days when I first found out. Mainly because I try hard not to linger too long on the time when I had been faced with the truth about what my exploits into the past had possibly wrought. Even now, these many months later, those days only serve to leave me shamed, unable sometimes to focus on my research and my future with Al until he pulls me back again, reminding me that it was pointless to keep looking to the past when nothing could be changed by it. And for the most part, I think we have managed that much, rationally taking what we had both seen as our only recourse by dealing with what couldn't be avoided in respects to my memory and gotten on with our lives. Turning together as the days passed and toward what could be gained by the experience rather than what had been lost by it. Leaving us both, I believe, with a better understanding of the other, and for myself a more complete view of the man with whom I fully intended to spend the rest of my life with. His giving me the ring I wear on my left hand is proof, not only to each other, but to the rest of the world also that we are so much more to one another than merely friends, and will I pray, always follow any new path together.

I glance down at Al's Navy ring, a welcome reminder that I am able to share my life with him. Its presence, indeed providing me with the comfort I know he had intended when he had slipped it onto my finger. It's old, almost as old as myself and definitely, I note, a little ashamed at the condition of one of Al's most prized possessions, clearly in need of a little care. I rub the dulled surface of the ring against the leg of my jeans, wondering as I do if he will require it for any part of the proceedings related to his retirement and whether I should ask him about it or not. Deciding once I realise the futility of my efforts, that given his current mood, it would probably be best just to let the subject rest for the time being. Unlike Al's retirement, I think as I examine the gold band a little more closely, there will be no such ceremony for us, no celebration of our union, and the thought of that makes me a little sad even though I know it shouldn't matter. The distance we have come over the years doesn't require any more than what we already have, and is something I realise that is truly more important to me than any amount of public acceptance of our relationship. 

The renewal of our physical relationship had come slowly, I reminisce and only after we had been settled into the house for some weeks. Turning one night in the circle of Al's arms, half-asleep and not quite awake only to find what had been meant as a simple kiss good night, wasn't enough. Somehow and without me realising it, the passage of time along with the constant reminder of the love that we shared had accomplished the necessary healing required for Al and I to love one another again. Within seconds of the first press of lips our mouths and hands had begun searching for a way to breach the remaining barrier left between us. Breaking down the wall that had been firmly in place since the truth about what had befallen both of us had been revealed to me.

It had been an uneasy joining I remember, but as essential by that time as the air we both breathe. Unbearably sweet, I think closing my eyes briefly, recalling that both of us had been shaking and in tears by the end. Remembering also that I had felt utterly reborn upon our shared release, whole again after so long of feeling incomplete.

I sigh at the memory of that night, and the other nights that have followed since, wistfully bathed in the afterglow of each. Al's expressions when we love one another, when he loves me, play in my mind, reminding me yet again what a gift it is to have him in my life and of how much I love him.

The imagery and emotions that always accompany any thoughts about the intimate side of the relationship Al and I have also help to settle the others most on my mind at the moment. And when I next raise the now moist bottle in my hands to my lips, taking this draught more slowly than the others I close my eyes again, enjoying the sensation of the full strength beer gradually seeping through me. Its chilled temperature alleviating not only a great deal of the discomfort I feel from the persisting summer heat, but much of my trepidation as well I realise.

I knew what was going to happen after all, what I was going to offer, perhaps even before I had left Al alone on the pretence of giving him some of his much loved space, and I find as I pass the slim bottle across my forehead that my final admittance of that does seem to help. Thinking as I drop my feet from the edge of the coffee table, relaxing a little further with the idea of taking matters into my own hands and hopefully making this time easier for Al that I had already helped by some small measure when I had first seen the difficulty he had been experiencing some days ago. Sensing, and acting on it that same night though not a word had been spoken about it since.

Nothing was too much, I had decided in a moment of pure understanding, not when the one so obviously in need held my heart and dreams in their hands.

I had been in awe, as I am so often by the sight of Al sitting astride me, our bodies joined in a way that still takes my breath away by the mere thought of it, when the sight of him rising almost entirely to his knees yet again had alerted me to the fact that something was amiss. Gripping my shoulders fiercely as he rode me, arching his back with an unprecedented determination each time he sought to impale himself further and further onto my hardened flesh, searching it seemed, for something that couldn't be achieved. His face had been a mask of something akin to anguish as he hovered above me, pausing only briefly before he moved once more, resuming his efforts to take more of me into his body than was humanly possible. It wasn't enough, I had understood at the moment our eyes met, seeing first hand, his soul exposed in an instant of undisguised truth. What had usually been more than satisfying to both of us had left my lover begging wordlessly for something else on this particular occasion and without thought or plan I had taken the role I knew he desired. Disengaging our bodies with more care than force, I had provided the answer to Al's unspoken plea to be dominated, to be removed from a place of right or responsibility, to only feel what couldn't be ignored.

Precisely how I had answered Al's plea the last time we had made love hadn't amounted to much more than me using my greater bulk to hold him down. Pinning his arms behind his back and drawing out the act until the sheer intensity of having him trapped beneath me, completely at my mercy if I should wish to further exert the control he had given me, had demanded that I finish it.

It had been very different, at least for me. It had been an experience I doubted I would ever forget and one that now had me questioning what exactly I thought this night would bring.

I know I hadn't hurt Al, not physically, nor did I have any intentions of doing so any time in the future. But I had learned a little that night about what it was that my lover needed, listening and watching his responses to the stimulation I had given both his body and mind. Knowledge that I could only hope would now see me through this next encounter, keep me steadfast in my convictions and help us both reach a level of satisfaction. The only problem was that what I had managed a week ago hadn't lasted as long as I would have hoped, and therein lay my dilemma. How I would begin, and hopefully one day erase the memories that had caused this need in him, somehow, replace the nightmares with new memories of our life together, of only my hands and body possessing him, loving him in the way he desired?

I sigh; again, unsure of my success, but knowing all the same that there isn't anything Al wouldn't do for me if I should ask him. And even though he has never actually made any request of me in regards to his unusual needs in times of stress, I knew him well enough to know that unless I made the offer, he never would.

We had been separated for years, I consider further and I knew that the only reason I was here now, back in my own time, was because God, time or chance had given both Al and I another opportunity at love. A love that had also given us the strength to continue on after everything that happened since I had returned, and now I truly believed, to face anything put in our way.

Years of experience have taught me that there was no obstacle too great, no problem so complex that a solution could not be found to overcome it and it is with my last thought that I gather the remaining courage required to do what I know is needed right now. I drain the bottle in my hand, enjoying the last of its cool content in the heat of this sultry August night, consciously steeling myself as I rise slowly for what I am about to do. 

Pacing myself carefully as I carry the now empty bottle into the kitchen and place it in the recycling bin by the back door, checking the lock before I start my rounds of securing the screens on the many open windows throughout the house and of arming the security system.

I finish my nightly ritual by the door of the master suite, finding Al where I had left him less than an hour earlier. Witnessing yet again, as I pause in the doorway, the burdened appearance of his posture and his serious expression as he studies the disarray spread across our bed.

"Need any help?" I offer when he raises his eyes to catch me watching him.

Al shrugs, scratching his cheek before answering me. "It’s okay, I think I've got it covered." He returns unconvincingly, and then without further comment turns his attention back to the disorganized display before him. Sighing heavily, I note as he bends to resume what I can only imagine was an attempt to better organize his suitcase.

In my opinion, one I keep to myself; Al actually appeared to be going backward in his efforts to finish his packing rather than making progress. Recalling, as I venture a couple of steps into the room, that when I had left him alone his suitcase had been very close to being full and he had reassured me that other than a few miscellaneous items, it was only his uniforms and toiletries that needed to be added for our trip. Al's uniforms had never found their way into our shared bedroom and would, I understood, be the last to be added so their nonappearance now didn't surprise me in the least. 

"I can you know. Help, that is." I tell him, pushing away my own feelings concerning his continued separation of his public and personal lives even in the privacy of our own home as I take the remaining steps necessary to reach the foot of the bed. Experiencing at closer quarters the unvoiced tension radiating from within him, something that I realise, standing this close to him, is now almost tangible.

Al nods at what I say, accepting my words without argument, our earlier difference apparently forgotten for the moment and seeming to pay no attention to my new position as he continues rearranging the small piles of clothing on the bed, slowly adding them one at a time to what is already in his suitcase.

He looks so despondent, I think watching him work, so drawn and tired, movements that are slow and deliberate, almost as if he is packing for something he knows he won't return from, that once our journey begins, nothing will ever be the same again. A sight which only serves to remind me as I let my gaze drift, glancing down at the weathered and slightly unsteady hands of my lover, that my assumptions in regards to Al's current state of mind are probably closer to the mark than I wished they were. The Navy had been Al's life long before we met, and even though it's his age and not our relationship that is forcing his retirement, I can well imagine that whatever the reason it makes little difference to him now. For Al, his retirement is the end of a lifetime commitment to his country. A country he had defended and almost died for when he'd gone to Vietnam and which had ultimately forced his meeting with the man who would change his perceptions so much, that he would in many ways, never be the same again.

I shake my head a little, dispelling the images that threaten and taunt me; finding as I look back up at Al that my determination in regards to what I'm about to offer has increased. My own memories of the time I had also spent with Commander Tran and my ongoing need to completely remove all traces of both he, and the seemingly unending suffering he had caused us both, adding to my resolve.

"I'm pretty good at it, you know." I say again, setting aside the other feelings that well inside of me when I think of Tran. Fear and shame have no place amongst the healing Verbena had told me many times over the previous months and her words of advice spur me on now. "Sorting things out, and helping with problems." I continue as I step around the side of the bed, ready to make my move. The opportunity to do so arising only moments later when Al reaches for another item to add to the others he is accumulating within the depths of his suitcase.

Reaching out, I take a firm hold of his outstretched arm; managing to still Al's movements and startling him a little, I think as I use what I have taken captive to carefully turn him so that we are facing one another. Sliding his arm around my waist but refusing to relinquish the grip I have on him even after I have pulled him into my own arms. Pressing our bodies impossibly close as I angle his head with my free hand and guide his downward to rest against the backside of my jeans. Meeting his eyes and almost drowning in the need I see in them before I manage to forge on, leaning forward to whisper against his cheek that all he has to do is tell me how.

I can feel myself begin to tremble as I deliver my message. My heart is pounding a little faster than usual, but there is no going back now and I move as soon as the offer is made to press my lips to Al's, sealing the promise I had made to myself to make this time easier for him in any way I could.

After so long there is no invitation is required and I close my eyes as I paint the mouth under my own with the tip of my tongue, slipping inside at the first opportunity to lavish the interior and to make my intent clear. The small moans of surprise Al makes and then the feeling of his arms slowly tightening around my back heartening me as I purposely draw my explorations out. Urged on by the weight of his body as he surrenders all too briefly; accepting the continuing intrusion as I release the hand on my back and work my way into the waistband of his trousers, managing to free his shirt and scrape my nails over what I have exposed before he pulls away. We are both breathless when he does, and judging by Al's expression, a little confused. His hands immediately moving to take hold of my own which have sought simultaneously to regain the contact lost to me; securing them both at the wrist as he releases himself completely from our embrace.

" _Jesus_ , Sam. What are you doing?" He questions; an inquiry panted softly from beneath dark lashes as Al holds my hands firmly to his chest, not ready it seems to set me free or perhaps risk another assault of his senses so soon.

"Helping you,” I insist. "I want to help you, Al. I can't bear to see you like this." I go on to explain, knowing that I have already said too much, that any moment now my words will once more be cut short and that the suggestion that anything is wrong between us will be venomously denied.

"I'm okay," he returns on cue. "I keep telling you that, Sam. Just let me finish packing, okay. We're running out of time now and I know I should have taken care of things before this but if I don't finish this tonight, then we'll have to come back here tomorrow afternoon and do it…I don't want that, " he adds shaking his head. "All I want is for us to keep to the schedule we've set up and start our vacation without the added worry of trying to do things at the last moment. Now please…" Al releases my hands at this point, meeting my eyes as he steps back. "Just let me do this my way." He concludes, dropping his gaze once the request is made and turning away seconds later.

It's what I want too, for Al to deal with this time in his life in the way he is most comfortable. But for the past week he has been anything but comfortable with the way we live our lives together. I know there is more, have known for months, and even though we still can't seem to bring the topic of his needs out into the light, I know they are there. That now, more so than any other time, they needed to be at least acknowledged.

"I'm willing to do that," I say to his turned back. The sight of his head bowed in concentration, the sheer fabric of his shirt barely concealing the mass of knotted muscles underneath, drawing me to him yet again. Demanding that I keep trying to soothe what I can, to offer anything to help him, no matter the form I know it will take. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," I chance, choosing my words carefully. "If you'd rather just focus on our vacation and my birthday then fine, but I know, Al. I know what is happening and I can help you if only you'd trust me to tell me how."

Al's head comes up at my last statement. "No…you can't, Sam." He replies, turning to face me and shaking his head in clear opposition to what I have said. "I can't…I won't ask you to do something that you don't understand."

"But I do…" I start to say, stopping mid-sentence as Al strides past me, successfully making his escape before I can explain myself. 

I pause, bewildered and now suddenly undecided as I stare at the empty doorway. I am not sure whether I should follow Al or not, or even if I should continue to press him on a subject that I knew we would perhaps never be able to discuss openly. I shake my head, feeling decidedly deflated by the very real prospect of that thought. 

Al's adamant expression is still clear in my mind even as I finally look away. I glance at our bed, searching for a place to sit down and dragging my fingers through my hair in frustration.

In a matter of only a few minutes I was back to square one again and I didn't have the slightest idea what I should do next.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See chapter one for the disclaimer and notes.

Making a space for myself on the bed I do as I had intended and sit down on it, lifting what I have moved onto my lap so as not to disturb anymore of what had been so carefully arranged. I re-straighten the small pile of clothing spread across my knees several times as I try repeatedly to gather my thoughts, to ascertain what exactly I was doing wrong and to understand why, after everything we had been through together Al was insisting on holding me at arm’s length during a time in his life when all I wanted to do was help him through it. 

I am not sure how I thought Al would react to my offer, but this certainly wasn't it. My plan was to offer him a release; not to judge him or to spend any great length of time talking about something that neither of us was comfortable with. The very last thing I wanted was to antagonize him further or to make things more difficult for both of us by starting an argument, and I remind myself, I had almost managed that once tonight already. 

I still my hands at the realisation, shaking my head a little as I set aside the clothing that only seemed to becoming more disorganized with my attempts to tidy them. It was a pointless exercise. The tension that had been steadily building between Al and I over the course of the last few days had me feeling more and more frustrated about what was going on, when I was doing my damnedest to stay patient with him. 

It wasn't working though, giving Al his space and staying as patient as I knew how to be under the circumstances was not making any difference to the situation and for the life of me I was at a loss to say what would at this point. I thought I had the answer; that giving Al the opportunity to burn off some of the anxiety brought on by his retirement was what he wanted, but he clearly wasn’t interested. 

Feelings of defeat crowd around me like the stifling heat of the night and I lean forward to cradle my head in my empty hands, shuddering as the image of Al's reaction revisits me once more. 

Honestly I don't want to fight with him and I know I can't force him to accept my help but this last week has been impossible. I also know that to think that the subject of his needs was now closed, something that we could go on ignoring simply because neither of us could find a way to talk about it, was just not going to work. I couldn't continue to live as we have been and I very much doubted that Al could for much longer either.

His stubbornness had gotten ridiculous, detrimental to both his health and his relationship with not just me, but everyone else around us as well. I know he loves me and has tried to protect me from anything that he thinks may cause me harm. But of all the things that have touched our lives, of all the things that we have faced together he can't protect me from this side of himself, no matter how much he may want to -- not if both of us are to remain sane. 

I sigh at that thought, sitting up again and scrubbing at my face as I look around me. I am surrounded by the many items Al has spread out on our bed and I take a moment to appraise his meticulous preparation for the conclusion of a career that I know has been both prestigious and clouded with endless grief and loss. A lifetime of living each day with a plan for the next, I muse; understanding the difficulties that alone represents as I reach for the velvet covered box that has been tucked neatly into one corner of his suitcase. 

Al has always said that his medals were nothing more than pieces of tin, given to him by a bunch of bureaucrats who had never seen even a day’s action so they wouldn't really understand what it was like. He had scoffed on the few occasions I had inquired about their various origins. _'They just mean I got to walk away, Sam. Nothing more,'_ he had informed me the last time, using a tone of voice that I had come to associate with a subject being closed or off limits. Though, I thought, my fingers absently caressing the smooth texture that despite Al's lack of acknowledgment of what he had been awarded, he had never failed to wear them with pride. 

He is definitely not an easy man to fathom some days I think as I release the catch and then open the small case that contains my lovers many medals, revealing row after row of brightly coloured ribbons and various shaped medallions. And like the contradiction before me, that precious metals and satin ribbons could ever be considered sufficient enough reward for all the suffering seen during wartime, Al too is a contradiction to many of the things I know he holds dear to his heart, including myself. With all the changes that have occurred since we first met he is continually fighting to maintain his toughened veneer. Even now, when I was here, sharing what I planned on being the rest of my life with him, he still couldn't let his guard down enough for me to share the burden of this current transition with him. Will not allow me to help lessen the burden in the way I know he desires, because of his belief that I don't understand it. 

It's not true. While I don't pretend to understand the actual need, I do understand its inception and what will reawaken the compulsion. I know that Al impending retirement is what causing his current conflict, and that is something I do understand. As for the rest, his needs specifically, there is no one else, his satisfaction falls to me. It is part of my responsibilities as his lover, and even though I can almost hear Al's reaction to my last thought it doesn't change the fact one iota. 

He would argue with me I know, but accepting his love does come with a certain amount of obligation. A duty amongst others not to allow him to suffer unnecessarily and I can't I decide, continue to simply stand by when I know very well that there is something I can do about it. 

The prospect of another confrontation with Al doesn't exactly fill me with hope that we can keep on avoiding the argument that we seem destined to have right now, but my mind is made up. I may very well fail, but I won't I conclude, give up without at least trying to make him understand that this is something he doesn't have to deal with alone. 

I close the box in my hands and then return it to the corner of the suitcase from whence it came. Standing up I turn in the small space beside the bed, my head spinning a little as I look around our room; the multitude of all that is represented here and my earlier reasoning providing me with the energy to keep moving. I spare the items on the bed one more glance as I leave them behind me and then simply follow the lights Al has turned on to aid his trek back through the house. 

I find him in the larger of our two bathrooms, clearly trying to go on with his packing for our trip as I watch him carefully removing various items from the cabinet above the vanity and place them in the toiletry bag I have set out for him to use. Imagining, I suspect that he has managed once more to evade confronting me by removing himself from the situation. Behaving, I remind myself, in a manner, which is very much his way.

Al looks up when I enter, catching my reflection in the mirror above the sink and returning my gaze as I approach him. I reach out again when I come to stand behind him, unable to stop myself and finding that I need the contact right now. Gingerly placing a hand on his shoulder I feel the knotted muscles I had seen earlier, the tension that is slowly consuming him -- both of us, I think as I lean forward to rest my forehead against his back. 

"I do understand," I whisper, finally, able to finish what I had wanted to say. "I love you Al, and all I ask is that you let me help you. Let me give you whatever you need right now."

Al's shoulders tense more from my words than my weight, threatening I think to push me away, to reject even my touch and for a moment I can't move, can't think of what else I could say to persuade him that I will do anything to help him through this time. That all he has to do is tell me that I haven't imagined the way he has been behaving, that the other night wasn't some terrible mistake. 

But very slowly it seems the moment passes and no response other than the obvious wish to be left alone is forthcoming. Al moves eventually, not pushing me away as I had feared, only changing his stance to accommodate the added burden of my weight against his back and I ease away when he does, too unsure of what he might be thinking right now to meet his eyes when I do. 

"What I need, Sam…" He is saying the moment I move, the strain of much more than just trying to keep me at bay finally taking its toll I realise when he pauses after only a few words and I look up again. 

Al's eyes are so bright that I almost think that he has been crying and for whatever reason I hadn't felt the change in him. He shakes his head a little at my immediate attempt to reach for him again; briefly releasing his grip on the vanity to raise one hand in a silent plea to assure me that he is okay. But it's no use, I know very well that he is not all right, and that no amount of telling me that he is will change the fact that right now, and for weeks prior I don't doubt, he is in pain. 

He speaks again before I can think beyond just wanting to take him in my arms and simply soothe him in any way I can manage. Picking up, I assume what he had been trying to say before the effort to do so had become too much. "What I need…is for there to be more time than either of us have left…for there to be a way to simply stop the years passing."

I know that a heightened awareness of one’s mortality is not uncommon for men of Al's age, something that has had me concerned, more so than his general health recently, but what he was asking for, what Al says he actually needed right now, was not something I could give him. There was nothing I could do to change or stop time. 

I shake my head slowly and force myself to take a mental step back from the situation, if not a physical one as I try once more to again gather my thoughts. It's wasn't easy though and I struggle to remain objective, rubbing the area between my eyes to alleviate some of the tension I am feeling. The idea that I will one day have to live my life without Al is not something I want to think about even though I know that it is inevitable given the differences in our ages. Mostly I have consoled myself with the fact that he could quite conceivably live another fifteen to twenty years, perhaps longer with the right amount of attention being given to his diet and stress levels. Both are factors that I am conscious of in our day-to-day life. I do what I can, when I am able. Or to be more accurate, when Al allows me to, I think dropping my hand back down to my side again. 

"We should talk about it." I hear myself saying, unsure of what else to say, but knowing all the same that this was all part of what Al and I needed to discuss. "The way you're feeling right now," I clarify as I take the opportunity to re-close the space between us, reaching out to turn him so that we are facing one another and then cupping and lifting his chin so that our eyes meet. 

Al's eyes resembled dark pools of unspoken need and I find myself drawn back to my earlier fear of drowning in them, losing my perspective because of the pain I see reflected back at me, and for a moment, understanding the reasons he has for wanting to keep this from me. 

"There's no need to talk about it.” Al is saying next, shrugging away from the light caress of my hand to turn his back once more; his tone of voice completely belying his appearance as he resumes the task of packing for our trip. Now almost throwing the items needed into the open bag on the vanity. "We both know what's going on, and nothing we say to one another is gonna change it."

The sudden change in Al's demeanour startles me. What I had seen, reminding me briefly of the darkness we are both trying to leave behind us, but I don't let myself think about it. I can't, I tell myself, because I know if I do I won't be able to stay focused. 

"I don't believe that." I tell him, certain that I am right. That with his cooperation and a little time I could reassure him of my love for him and our future together, the length of it unimportant in light of what we shared with one another. And if after that more was still needed, then I could prove it also. I was willing to take whatever steps were necessary to give him a release from the torment he insisted on suffering alone. "It may help…" I go on, speaking to Al's back but gaining confidence as I do. "…If you talk to me I can help. I can't change the clock, Al. I wish to God I could. But maybe there's something else I can do; something that will lessen a little of what you're feeling."

"There's nothing you or anyone else can do." He snaps, setting a familiar precedent for how I know he will continue this conversation if forced. 

And after so many years of friendship I really ought to be accustomed to the tactics Al uses when he is cornered; be more able to provide a suitable defence against the way they make me feel. Becoming lovers changed a great deal about how we argue with one another. It makes everything more personal and it is times like now that it is difficult to remember that not everything is meant as an attack. 

I take a deep breath, fighting the feelings that rise inside of me. The feelings of being held responsible for his behaviour, deserving somehow of his treatment and not liking it one little bit. For the past few weeks I have taken the not so subtle hints Al gives when he wants his space, and backed off. Hoping that giving him what he wanted would help him sort out whatever it was that he was feeling and that sooner or later he would share it with me. But for all my trying nothing seems to make an ounce of difference. 

The bathroom is only marginally cooler than the rest of the house and my head is starting to remind me that the combination of alcohol on a near empty stomach is no more conducive to patience than the heat is. I rub my forehead again; trying to hold on to what remains of my composure. I am at a loss to understand why Al can't see that his stubbornness is affecting us both, that I can feel the fear and uncertainty coiling inside of him and that my only motivation is to help him. That I love him with all my heart and having to watch him day after day is tearing me apart also. 

He has said that there is nothing I can do, but I know in my heart, the heart we have shared for the better part of my adult life that is simply not true. Whether it be just talking about his fears or attempting to quell the need he refuses to accept that I could satisfy given the opportunity to understand it better, I don't know. But what I do know is the more he refuses me the more I want to know why. 

"You sound so sure,” I say, purposely crowding him as I take a step closer. "And yet I know very well that if we do talk about it we will find a way to make this easier. I also know that what's been happening the last few days is because you're not dealing with what's going to happen when we go to Washington. I wish you'd share it with me. You might not want to accept that I understand Al, but I do. I know more about you and what you feel than anyone does. We can face your retirement together like we always planned we would. You just have to trust me that this something we can deal with." 

Al has continued his packing as I pull out all the stops. I am doing my utmost to make him understand, but the only response I receive for my efforts is muffled by the sound of glass impacting with porcelain as one of his favourite bottles of cologne takes the brunt of his frustration.

"For Christ sake Sam, not everything is that simple. Not everything turns out the way we want it to, or is something that you can fix." Al steadies himself against the front of the vanity as he speaks, staring blindly at the shattered remains in the sink and shaking from the anger that I know is slowly working its way free. 

The smell of expensive cologne fills the room and I think perhaps a wiser man would stand back as I watch the knuckles on his hands slowly turn white, maybe give him a little more space to move in, but I have been doing that for days now. Watching helplessly as the man I love slowly lets his own fears eat him alive, but I can't do it anymore. I won't let his fear of aging and diminishing worth hurt him any longer, destroy the man that I know he works so hard to be. Destroy what we have together.

I take a firmer than is necessary hold on Al’s shoulders, stilling their involuntary movements as I move to press myself against his back once more even before I have realised what I have done. "Please, Al for both our sakes. Talk to me." 

Al stiffens in my grasp as his eyes drift upward to meet my own in mirror, the pupils in his growing in size and darkness as the seconds tick by, fear and something else I can't quite identify, erasing the warmth I usually see there. He doesn't speak as I had hoped he would, instead he shakes his head, silently refusing me yet again. No longer willing it seems to answer me any other way.

"Why not?" I demand. Gripping his shoulders more tightly as I lose what has only been a tenuous grip on my own fear and frustration. Fear that this belief of his will drive a wedge so far between us that I will never be able to bridge it. Frustration and anger over what could have been dealt with so simply if only he would see reason. "Tell me, Al. Why are you being so stubborn? Surely, you can't think that we can go on this way. That I didn't know after the other night what was coming? Did you think we could just go on pretending that hadn't happened? For Christ sake, you enjoyed it, I know you did." 

"No," he explodes. 

I was wrong it appears and words are not quite lost on the man who in the space of a heartbeat goes from reluctant compliance to complete rejection of me. The denial behind Al's answer and the string of obscenities that follow are as determined and clear in their intent as his obvious plan to now push me away physically as well. It doesn't surprise me however, nor does the strength he summons to aid him. He is not a man to be underestimated and it takes a great deal of my strength to stop him, having to literally trap both his arms against the sides of his body so he doesn't inadvertently hurt either of us, as what he has worked desperately to hold in finally escapes. 

"Stop it, Sam. Let me go," he spits, continuing to fight me at every turn as I steer him away from the hard surface of the vanity unit and bring us both to our knees. "I swear, if you don't, I'm gonna…"

"You're going to what?" I return, regaining some of my composure as I retain the upper hand and manage to wrestle us all the way down to the tiled floor of the bathroom. "Not talk to me, keep right on holding me at arm’s length until this tears us both apart? I don't think so. This stops now, okay. Enough." 

I may be winning this battle of wills, but I am panting by the time I have him flat on his back and almost out of breath as I settle myself astride him, making sure that my weight is supported by my knees while I pin Al's arms above his head.

"Don't lie to me, Al. Lie to yourself if it helps but don't tell me you're okay when you're not or that something I've done, we've done together wasn't what you wanted. Don't do that to us." I do run out of breath then, along with sufficient words to express myself with. I have to readjust the grip I have on Al's arms so I concentrate on that for the moment. He struggles continuously, fighting me with everything he has and it takes all my will power to hold him down, regretting the necessity of having to do so, the past that I know still haunts him and my own cowardice for not dealing with this earlier. 

"You don't understand." Al tells me repeatedly as he tries to break free, though it is useless with me all but sitting on top of him, his tone and words turning cruel the very moment I believe he senses my resolve beginning to erode. "You don't have a fucking clue what you're talking about, or offering. And believe me Sam, you don't want to know. You couldn't cope if you knew, because then you'd have to accept that there are some things that even you can't change." 

Al's words wound, striking me at a point that even after all these years is most vulnerable. My unchangeable desire to right wrongs. There has to be a way is all I can think, something that I can do. Some way to make Al see that his shutting me out just has to stop. "Tell me what you want me to do then?” I demand again. “Why you're so angry with me? What is it that you don't think I could cope with?" 

I want to say that he has to tell me, that I won't let this go until he does, that it isn't fair but I don't, the sight of him trapped beneath me unravels me in a way that no amount of words could ever come close to explaining. In an instant the distance between us, his anger toward me and the fear that I see each time I look into his eyes all make perfect sense. 

"You do hold me responsible, don't you?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

 

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I shift my gaze the fraction necessary and years of pain and torture, both physical and emotional instantly reveal themselves in the dark eyes before me. Showing me things no man should ever see, let alone be forced to endure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See chapter one for the disclaimer and notes. 
> 
> Thank you for reading.

Al's body stiffens under me, his back arching in one more attempt to fight me off and then going completely rigid when he fails. "Yes," he spits. "Now get the fuck off me Sam, or I swear you'll wish you had."

Al's threats mean nothing to me. I won't fight him and the anger that had gripped me briefly and brought us to this moment recedes as a familiar horror takes its place. I am stunned by his admission and whether it is rational or not to be as hurt by it as I am, it is beside the point.

I release his arms and move further back on my knees; only just managing to avoid his flailing fists as he swings and misses, though right now I couldn't care less if he had struck me. I was right, my conscience repeats over and over again. Al does hold me, or at least the relationship he has with me responsible for his retirement from the Navy he loves, and God only knows what else, a greater proportion of which I simply can't contemplate. But it doesn't matter exactly what Al really thinks I am to blame for, or that I know that neither of us is thinking very clearly, the damage is done.

I cover my face with my hands, bowing my head from the shame that I know I can never escape as Al continues to vent all that I have pried loose. Wanting to find some place where I didn't have to face or hear him right now, all the time knowing that there was nowhere to go. No place or time, not in this lifetime or the next.

"You just have to talk about everything, don't you? You can't leave anything alone, can you Sam? It doesn't matter that I tell you no, you have to push. Well you want to know what's going on. What I really want, then listen?"

I don't answer Al; I don't have the energy to move let alone to tell him that I wished we could stop the whole conversation. That I was sorry, he is right and I was wrong to push him. I'm trembling, exhausted from the heat and the previous week spent trying to get through to him and all I want now is to take a shower and go to bed. Pull the covers up over my head and forget for a while what I had done to us both.

"Listen to me.” Al demands again, pulling one of my hands away from my face and tugging me forward until I am leaning across his body.  
"No." I whisper, doing my best not to look at him as I steady the majority of my weight with my other hand. "I'm sorry," I do manage to say. "I only wanted to help you."

"Help me, Sam? Don't you think you've done enough?" Al taunts, his voice still dripping with distain as he reaches up to grip me around the back of neck, forcing me to face him. "Do you really think I'd want your help?"

They are only words I tell myself; he's angry, upset, using anything he can think of to strike out at me with and when he calms down again, we'll let this go, both of us. Put it behind us where it belongs and move forward, stop looking to a past I can't change. We just have to.

It's difficult to ignore the guilt and almost physical pain his words inflict though and I know as I continue to avoid his eyes as best I can that this is what Al had meant when he said that there are some things that I can't cope with, and that is why we don't talk about them. Because as much as some would consider it a blessing, an extraordinary gift shared by very few, I cannot only see the past with perfect clarity every time I look into my lovers pained eyes, but all its horror also. I can see the past I had unwittingly created. And it is times such as these when the past catches up with Al and I, once more threatening the peace we have found with one another I can't help wonder just how much of a part I actually played in it all. We tried initially to decipher the memories, what I recalled of my time with the Commander, along with what we both shared, but we soon discovered that talking about the possibility only added insult to injury. 

It had been Al's idea to stop, another way in which he has tried to protect me I remind myself as I struggle in the hold he has on both my hand and the back of my neck. Only now, when he had been pushed well past the brink of his tolerance he was using his knowledge of what we shared as a means to make sure I gave him exactly what he wanted from me.

"No." I tell him again; finding my voice in amongst the emotion that feels as if it is choking me, knowing that if I don't give Al even a token reply it will only aggravate him further.

"Damn straight." He returns, his nails digging into the back of my neck as he speaks. "You're the last person I want help from right now, Sam. The very last." He adds, contradicting himself by pulling me forward when I know that it is distance between us that he is seeking.

Distance so that he can deal with all that he is feeling without my interference. How he had accomplished it in the past while I'd still been leaping trying to find my way back to him again.

Am I responsible for the desires, needs and behaviour of the man beneath me? His body hard and familiar, trembling now from the uncertainty that awaits us both; his breath full of fury and a hunger that I am still to share, hot on the side of my face. Is it even possible? I don't know. Neither of us knows, but whatever the answer it doesn't stop the feelings that have literally overwhelmed me when I have considered it before. They, like the others that always accompany the dark shadow cast over our lives threaten me again as my mind fills with images of Al and the long line of faceless men who he had sought help from. I know I shouldn't go down that particular path, but pressed against him as I am I find myself caught in a web of unrelenting emotion, jealousy and an indescribable pain of my own, no longer able to resist the pull that beckons me without mercy to seek another glimpse into the unguarded windows of Al's soul to find out. 

I shift my gaze the fraction necessary and years of pain and torture, both physical and emotional instantly reveal themselves in the dark eyes before me. Showing me things no man should ever see, let alone be forced to endure. Pain and suffering so intense I feel myself flinching as scene after scene is laid bare for my inspection. Al's voice seemingly far away though we are only inches apart, asking me if I am happy with what I see, does it help. Do I still think that I understand; taunting me into recoiling from him entirely. Thankfully there are other things to be seen in his heart, things that are just as compelling as the horrific scenes I know he now wants me to see. 

Pride and unfailing love are twisted throughout each and every tortuous day; the man himself kept alive by no more than the desire to survive. And the longer I am held there, trapped in the past by Al's gaze, only half listening to the sordid commentary of his existence prior to my return to him the more I am compelled to delve deeper. Searching even though I feared I had always known the answer to my question of just who had provided my lover with his strength to go on.

The view of all that is being shown to me begins to cloud as the seconds speed by and my search quickly becomes a quest for the truth. Al's eyes fill with tears as the words I have forced from him tumble out. No longer tainted with anything but the shame I know he feels every day of his life and that he has tried to shield me from, his eyes slowly closing at the last moment.

"You see, Sam," he whispers finally. His voice is now hoarse; barely audible as he releases the hold he has on my trapped hand and the back of my neck, turning away as he adds. "There is nothing you can do that hasn't been done before." A lone tear slides down his cheek and lands on the back of my other hand as he falls silent beneath me.

Other than the occasional tremor that wracks his body, Al lies very still, sobbing quietly, his head turned to one side. His anger spent, though I can still feel the grief that had caused it radiating from within him, subsiding slowly as more tears fall from his closed eyes. And for a few moments I simply stay where I am, watching the play of emotions cross his face, feeling his heart beating strongly in his chest and waiting for my own to also settle to a more acceptable rate.

I am no closer to a clear answer than I have been in months, but I don't care anymore. What Al has shared with me tonight is enough to know that his love for me has transcended time and space. It is what binds us together each day of our lives and will continue to do so in the future to come. It is also unbreakable I realise, though I know efforts have been made to sever it over the years; sometimes unfathomable and truly shattering how it has encompassed both our lives since our first meeting years ago. It is too much to put into words or to try and to explain to anyone, even each other some days.

I hang my head at that thought, wondering as I wait for both my breathing and pulse to slow, just who it was that chose this man for me. Were they the same ones that kept me from him for so long that he had been forced to keep himself alive by the means he has described to me and who will eventually take him from me when his days upon this earth expire?

Of all the lessons I have learnt over the years and the questions I have found answers for, none seems as paramount in the actual scheme of my existence as the one of whether everything in my life has been fate or plan. To believe that all the years I was leaping that my path was somehow guided had been a hypothesis we had settled on in the absence of any other acceptable explanation, but to believe that Al had always been a part of that plan was difficult to accept. A responsibility I wasn't sure I would ever learn to live with even though I now know that somehow I needed to find a way to do just that. I had to make what time Al and I had left a celebration of what we shared and not something to be looked back on with shame and regret.

I squeeze my eyes closed briefly before I open them again, somehow managing to hold back my own tears as I force myself to focus on what can be changed instead of what can't and then lift my head so that I could once more look at him. His eyes are still closed; the lashes beneath them are damp, shining under the light generated above us. The minutes we have maintained our positions have slipped by without notice and it is only now that I am feeling the effects of my own. My legs are full of pins and needles and my back is aching from the need to be straightened.

I don't risk touching Al immediately, nor do I brush the dampness from his cheeks or try to move him in any way to aid my own movements. Simply I lever myself over his body to sit alongside him. His eyes open to watch me as I settle on the floor. He is silent though I can see the uncertainty and almost hear the questions that pass between us as I rub my knees and slowly work out the kink in my neck. 

The silence stretches between us, but I know that I have to break it somehow. "I love you,” I start. “And I think that we both know that nothing you could ever say is going to change that. I can't change what I have done or lengthen the days to come, but I can make sure that we make better use of what's in front of us than what we are."

Al regards me quizzically, unsure of my intention and absolutely exhausted, I think. Something I know that will go in my favour though I truly wished it hadn't been necessary to argue as we have. "I think about the time we have left too." I tell him, shifting my gaze as I go on to glance down at the ring on my left hand. "I also think about what's been wasted and how I can make up for leaving you alone for so long."

"You can't." Al whispers.

"But it's what I want, to make it up to you…to us." I find it difficult, but somehow I drag my eyes back to Al. "And I want you to help me."

He shakes his head in response. Not refusing me, just not understanding. I don't say anymore for the moment. I need to think about how I can put into words what his help will mean to both of us, how I need his acceptance of my love for him just as much as I need his love for me. That it is somehow vital to both our existences.

"I want you to let me keep a promise." I begin slowly, at last realising where my solution lies. 

I understand that Al may think that there isn’t anything I can do to help him, but I know in my heart he would never refuse to help me. "A promise… “I continue, risking everything I have gained in the last few minutes by reaching over to wipe the last of the tears from his eyes. “…I made myself the morning you took me back to project after we spent our first night here." I add. Pausing as I withdraw my hand and then use it to brush the hair that has fallen across my own eyes; relieved that he has accepted my touch without complaint.

I have told Al a number of times how I felt about him taking me home that day months ago. How completely ashamed I was of what I had tried to do to him the night before. But I don't think I have ever mentioned how from that day onward everything else we had accomplished paled in comparison to my goal to right what I had wronged between us and it was time, I decided, that he knew just how much I needed to finally do that. "I want you to let me be the one who helps you, and no one else. I don't want you to deal with this alone or…"

"I wouldn't, Sam -- never." He interrupts, drawing an incorrect conclusion to what I'm sure he thinks I am suggesting; that I doubted his loyalty. I know very well Al would never repeat what he had done in my absence. "I'm sorry; I shouldn't have said what I did." He adds solemnly, his words tapering off and becoming no more than a whisper once again.

"I know." I reassure him, answering both his statements at once, moving then to assist him as he rolls on his side and struggles as he tries to sit up.

Al appears as uncomfortable as I feel; his clothing, like his hair is dishevelled and I give him a few moments to settle himself before I attempt to bring us back to the subject at hand. 

Sitting on the hard tiled floor is not ideal, but I discard the idea of moving us to more comfortable surroundings in preference of continuing what has been started without the risk of becoming side tracked while I wait for Al to finish removing his jacket and to loosen his tie. I pick up where I left off as soon as he seems ready, hopefully explaining what I had been trying to say.

"I wasn't suggesting that you would do anything that would hurt me, only that we don't talk about it and I know that's because it's difficult for us,” I tell him. "Talking about it brings up things that we try to avoid because of the effect it has on both of us. What it reminds us of. " I add, still skirting the actual incident where I had all but lost complete control of my senses as the unease that always seemed to accompany the topic begins to make itself felt again.

Al doesn't seem to want to meet my eyes now but I believe that is for both our benefits and not just his. This is after all a conversation we have been putting off for months now and I understand his unspoken anxiety around it as much as I understood my own. He does nod however, at least acknowledging what I have said.

"I appreciate that you still want to try and protect me, but this isn’t something you can protect me from. Not if we are to be completely honest with one another and that's what I want Al, for us to be open about what each of us wants. I can understand you want your space right now, that you have things to sort out that I can't necessarily help you with, but I'm not blind. The other night…things just happened…" I am suddenly grateful for Al's foresight and the absence of his eyes scrutinizing me as I continue. "I knew what we, what I was doing wasn't enough for you and I want you to know that it's okay to tell when you want something else, when you want more…." My own voice trails off there and I can't seem to find the appropriate words to finish my sentence. I swallow hard; glancing down at the space between us though I can still see Al shifting uncomfortably beside me as he fidgets with the jacket folded in his lap.

I wish I could start again, I think watching Al's hands tremble as they smooth and then re-smooth his gold jacket, knowing deep down and as time goes on that much of the awkwardness around this particular subject had to do with my own fears and inexperience. Certainly Al's lack of openness with it has contributed to the problem, but mostly I felt it was my original reaction to it and what I had tried to do to him afterwards that has created the barrier between us. We were both afraid, and for our own reasons. Al because of how he had come to deal with it while I was away and how after all the time he had spent talking about it with Verbena the need still arose. His retirement and all the years of service in the Navy were coming to an end, an end that like many things throughout our lives that couldn't be changed or put off indefinitely. There were changes to be made though, I know that now, I only had to find the right words so I could explain that to Al.

"You told me that I should tell you when I wasn't okay, Al." I say, recalling another conversation we had where he had made me promise to let him know when I felt something between us needed to be discussed. "But you never said a word about how you were feeling about your retirement until tonight. Each time I tried to talk to you about it, you changed the subject or gave me some excuse. And all this time I knew that you were finding it difficult, that you needed a release from what you were feeling. It took me a while, but the other night made me realise what that release was, how you wanted to deal with everything that had come up while you prepared for us to go to Washington."

Al keeps his gaze fixed at an unknown point between us as I speak, his fingers still absently stroking the fabric of his jacket, no doubt listening to me but giving very little clue as to what he thought about what I was saying. I reach out to stroke his bowed head as I continue, slowly adding momentum to my words as my heart finally finds a way to express itself. "I'm not wrong, am I? It's what you want?"

The head under my hand drops lower at my inquiry, Al's shoulders slumping under the tremendous weight I can only imagine he feels because of it. "Please Sam, don't. I'm sorry I said what I did, I don't blame you and I know you're only trying to help me but…"

It only takes me a moment to realise that Al is still trying to avoid my question before I alter the path of my hand to follow the curve of his face, lightly caressing his cheek as I gently lift his chin so that we are looking at one another. "Why is it so hard to tell me what you want? You say you don't blame me, but Al how can you expect me not to want to know what you want and need from me. We spend every day together and every night sleeping in each other's arms. I can feel how much you love me just sitting here with you now. I know there are things you want and that you'd rather deal with this alone, but you're not alone. I'm here with you now and I will be for every day there is to come. Please don't make me stand back and watch you suffer when I know I can help you. I can love you any way you want, for as long as you need it and I want you to let me. If not for you Al, then do it for me, for us."

Al's eyes tear up again; shining brightly as they fill with a familiar devotion that I know is directed solely at me and the longer I hold his chin, steadying his gaze the more intense the sting behind my own eyes becomes. He opens his mouth to say something and I am not sure if I think he is going to deny me again or not, but I don't give him the opportunity to do so either way. I release the hold I have on him and close the distance separating us so that I can press my lips to his, tasting the tears that had fallen previously and kissing them away, wanting so badly for him to put his arms around that it hurts when he doesn't.

Al doesn't respond to me, but he doesn't pull away either and even though I am disappointed by his lack of reaction I don't question it. I am not sure what I was trying to achieve, only that I had wanted to hold off what now seems inevitable.

"How can you want to know more? After everything I have told you, how can you even want to stay with me?" Al asks once I pull back again. He looks confused and sad I think, resigned I decide and I find myself sadden by the realisation that he is not just going to give in to me because I have asked him to.

"What I've done can't be changed. I know, I've tried to stop it, to make it go away, but it doesn't make any difference." He goes on to say, touching his right hand to his chest with his next disclosure, making clear his commitment by placing his hand over his heart. "I don't know where it comes from exactly only that right now I rather take it to my grave than make you any more a part of it than you already are."

It is very hard to argue with a man who has spent the better part of his life protecting those he loves. Especially one who now finds himself at the end of a very long road and who doesn't know which way to turn or how to accept help from those who love him. It doesn't stop me trying however. The thought that I would ever give up is not something I am willing to accept.

"I know you Al and up to this point I thought I knew everything there was to know about what gets you down or makes you happy. How to make you smile and how to take care of you when you won't take care of yourself. How from the moment I laid eyes on you after I came home that I knew you'd let me decide what was to happen next."

"Things have changed since then Sam, we're changed. Neither of us are the same men anymore." Al seems determined to argue everything I bring up, but I am ready for him. Just as determined to have him see reason and understand that I am not going to back down. That I can no longer live the way we have been.

"How are we different Al? What's changed between us to make you think that I don't know what I want from this relationship anymore? Nothing has changed for me. I still want what I have always wanted from you. What you've always given me."

Al doesn't react. He has lowered the hand he had previously held to his chest and his gaze is once more cast downward but I am convinced he understands just what I mean. What he has always given me without hesitation or question all the years we have known one another.

While we were building the Project when my mind was consumed with details and diagrams and I couldn't think beyond making my dream a reality it was Al that I turned to when a final decision needed to be made. When I was leaping he had been so much more than just my observer, he'd been my lifeline to a time I thought I would never return to. And when I did finally find my way home again, it was he who showed me that after so many years of friendship how to be more to one another.

"I'm asking for your direction Al, and your trust. That's something that hasn't changed for me all the years we've been friends nor is it likely to anytime soon. I know that it's different now, that in some ways we are not the same men. We know different things about one another but it doesn't matter how long we're together or how long I am without you…" I pause then, choking back the lump that has risen in my throat. "Your guidance is something I am always going to want." I manage, losing my battle against tears as I go on. "Are you going to tell me you can no longer offer me that? That you are refusing to let me make love to you?"

Al's entire attitude changes at my questions. Taken back, he releases the hold he has on his jacket and straightens. "No, Sam, I'm not saying that at all." He says brushing the hair from my eyes and catching the solitary tear that has escaped with the tip of one of his fingers, flicking it away. "Please don't cry. I don't want to make this harder than it already is. It's just that this isn't the same as giving advice on something. We don't talk about this for a very good reason and you know that." Al's tone is gentle, knowing, but his sudden willingness to communicate only to reinforce his refusal to accept my support merely serves to reawaken my own frustration over the situation between us.

"I know we don't talk about it because you don't think that I understand it and for reasons I really can't comprehend you won't accept that simply isn't true, Al. You'd rather pretend that there isn't even a problem then face the possibility that maybe I could actually help you. Or that I want to know more about what you need sometimes."

Al drops his gaze, withdrawing the hand he had offered to comfort me with. "You can't, Sam…it's not in your nature to want to be a part of something that deviates this far from what your used to and I don't expect you to."

"What do you expect then? That I'm just going to stand back and watch while the stress of your retirement overwhelms us both?"

Al shakes his head no. "I didn't mean to involve you." He tells me quietly, his hands once more shifting over the folded jacket in his lap.

"I'm in love with you; I can't not be involved," I snap, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. "And you pushing me away only makes me want to help you more." Al's head comes up at that and I forestall the apology I know he is about to make, unwilling to hear it. "It makes me wonder why you'd risk what we have together to keep what you are feeling to yourself and why you think sharing it with me isn't worth the same risk."

"It's not like that, Sam. I promise you that. I honestly don't mean to hurt you. I know you love me but we both know that we have very different ways of dealing with things. Yours has always been to talk about whatever is bothering you, but it's not the same for me. I can't just sit down and say, hey I feel like my life is coming to end. You and Beeks are gonna think I'm going insane." 

Al's confession brings me up short and after his ongoing avoidance of the issue it surprises me when I had begun to believe that nothing would. "Is that how you feel?" I venture, hesitant to interrupt but not willing to let the opportunity to receive at least one honest admission from him -- relieved when he nods and then continues.

"I've tried Sam and I know I should be doing better than I am, but I can't deal with the feelings of being useless and you having to support me sooner or later. I keep thinking about all the things I still want to do and the years wasted. I know I can't, but I want to go back and change my life…there's just so many things that I wish I could do differently."

There is no need to ask Al what he would want to be different, because after twenty years of friendship I already have a pretty good idea where he would start if he could. He seems reluctant to voice the actual events though and it takes me a moment or two to figure out why that might be. Realisation dawning as he shifts his gaze away from my own to once more stare at the space between us.

"You want to go back in time to save Trudy and to warn Chip…" I prompt gently, knowing exactly where he would begin and hopefully making anything else he wants to share with me a little easier.

"Yes." He sighs; relieved I think to have released a small portion of what he is still holding in.

"And?" I inquire reaching out and carefully coaxing his eyes back again.

"I want to walk on the moon instead of just orbiting it." He tells me and I manage to smile at that, knowing Al's sense of adventure and nodding both my approval and wish for him to continue. He doesn't though and within the span of only a moment or two I can see the fear and pain brought about by yet another memory of the past clouding his eyes, taking him back to a place in time where his fate had been sealed.

"It's okay." I say, thumbing his cheek, understanding what would make the greatest difference in Al's life and the fact that if it were possible to achieve it would also exclude my existence from his. I should feel hurt, but I don't. I know Al loves me despite wanting back what he lost when he went back to Vietnam for his second tour of duty. His life would have been very different and I don't begrudge him wanting what he could have had, not for a moment. I can only try to do as I have wanted all along and erase the past by providing a new future for us both.

I move when it is evident that Al isn't going to say anymore, taking him in my arms, I am heartened to feel his own slide around my back as he leans into me and to note his head coming to rest against my shoulder; surprised when he does offer a little more insight. 

"I don't know what to do, Sam. I don't know how to keep going or stop feeling as if a part of me is dying. It hurts." He finally admits.

"I know." I hush, gently rocking him in the safety and confines of my arms. A place where nothing could hurt him, I think as I tighten my hold on him then manoeuvre us so that we are both lying on the bathroom floor, remaining mindful of Al's head as I settle him along side of me. No memory could do him harm, I muse stroking his hair and brushing my lips against his cheek, not as long as he allows me to both hold and love him for all the days to come. 

"Tell me how to make it stop?" I whisper.

The End

This story is continued in “It Happened one Night”


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